"Certainly," Don said. "Just let me know if I'm driving too fast for you."
"If you don't like the way I dance you know what you can do about it," the girl said, her voice hardening.
Switching from English into Italian, Don said, "I know what I would like to do, but this is hardly the place."
Boredom, irritation and weariness went away from the girl's face. Her eyes became alive. Her red, sensual lips curved into a smile.
"How did you know?" she said. "No one has spoken to me in Italian for years."
"I'm psychic," Don said, smiling at her.
She pursed her red lips.
"I think you're tight."
"That's an idea. Shall we stop this depressing shuffling and see what we can do about it?"
"That's up to you. It'll still cost you a pound an hour."
"Think nothing of it," Don said, leading her back to his table. "I'm made of money. What'll it be?"
She ordered the inevitable champagne and Don ordered another whisky. When the drinks had been served, he asked her from what part of Italy she had come.
"I was bom in Naples," she told him. "I married an American soldier who brought me to London. We hadn't been here two weeks before a taxi knocked him down and killed him."
"Tough luck," Don said.
She shrugged.
"He wasn't much. I was glad to be rid of him."
"You must have been pretty young when you married."
She laughed.
"I was fifteen. There were eighteen in my family. We lived in four rooms. I was pretty glad to get out." She smiled at him. "You're American, aren't you? How did you learn to speak Italian so well?"
"My father lived most of his life in Florence. I spent a lot of time with him. What's your name?"
"Call me Gina."
She began to tell him about Naples. He could see she was badly homesick and he let her talk. After she had worked through half the bottle of champagne and the wine had relaxed her, he said casually, "By the way, how's Ed these days?"
She continued to smile, but the light went out of her eyes. After a second or so, the effort of keeping the smile on her lips proved too much of an effort. Her face reverted to a cold, expressionless mask.
"What do you know about Ed?" she asked harshly.
"I want to talk to him. I've been looking all over for him. Where's he got to?"
"How should I know?" She reached for her bag. "I've got to go. I can't spend all the evening with you."
"Don't be silly," Don said, smiling at her. "I've got a deal. I want to gut in Ed's way. It won't wait. It's worth fifty pounds to anyone who can tell me where he is."
Her eyes lost their cold look.
"You. mean you'll give me fifty pounds if I tell you where he is?" she said, staring at him.
"I'll give you fifty pounds if you show me where he is," Don said. "I'm not parting with all that money for an address."
The tip of her tongue passed over her lips as she studied him. "Honest? If I had fifty pounds could go home. I could go to
Naples."
"Show me where Ed is and you can go home. That's a promise." "I haven't seen him for weeks, but I think I know where he is. When will you have the money?" "In a couple of hours."
"All right. Meet me outside the Casino theatre at one o'clock. I can't get away from here until twelve, and I'll have to make sure he is where I think he is." "ThenyouTldoit?"
"There's not much I wouldn't do for a chance to go home," she said. "He's in trouble, isn't he?" "Would you worry?" She shook her head.
"Find out where he is, but don't tell him I'm looking for him," Don said. "That's important."
"I'm not likely to tell him," she said. "I'm not crazy. Ed's dangerous.”
Chapter V
THE LONG SHOT
At five minutes to one, as Don walked briskly along Old Compton Street, his head bent against the driving rain, he could hear Harry's light footfalls behind him.
Although Don had promised Uccelli not to bring in the police, he had no intention of tackling Shapiro single-handed.
"This girl may not know where Shapiro is hiding," he told Harry. "She wants the money badly, and if she doesn't know where he is, she may be tempted to pull a fast one. So watch out. Keep out of sight, but move in if there's trouble."
He glanced over his shoulder as he neared the darkened Casino theatre and motioned Harry to stop. Harry slid into a dark doorway and out of sight.
Glad to get under the shelter of the Casino's canopy, Don glanced at his watch. It was now two minutes to one o'clock, There was no sign yet of Gina. He opened his coat and shook off the rain drops. Then lighting a cigarette, he leaned against the wall and settled down to wait.
After he had finished his second cigarette, he began to pace slowly up and down the length of the sheltered pavement. It was now quarter past one. He decided to give Gina another quarter of an hour before making a move. He continued to pace up and down, listening to the rain beating on the roof of the canopy. He remembered that Uccelli had warned him how dangerous Shapiro was. If Shapiro suspected Gina was betraying him...
Again Don looked at his watch. It was three minutes to half-past one. He looked up and down the deserted street, then crossing the street he joined Harry in the shop doorway.
"It doesn't look as if she's coming," he said. "I don't like it, Harry. She may have run into trouble."
"Do you know where she lives, sir?"
"No, but we should be able to find out. There's no point in hanging around here any longer. We'll go to the Florida Club.
They may know where we can find her."
Stepping out into the rain, they hurried over to Firth Street.
The Florida's neon sign still blazed into the dark night, making a red pool on the wet pavement.
"Wait here," Don said. "I'll see what I can find out."
He went down the steps to where the doorman sat in his cubby hole.
The doorman looked up and scowled at him.
"We're shut," he growled. "The last lot are coming out now."
"Is Gina around?" Don asked.
"She's gone home."
"I have a date with her, but I 've mislaid her address," Don said, taking out a pound note and letting the doorman see it.
"Can you give it to me?"
The doorman eyed the pound note, rubbed his jaw, then lifted his heavy shoulders.
"I could," he said and pulled a well-thumbed notebook out of a drawer, flicked through the pages, found an entry and scowled at it. "I 'ave an idea she's moved from the address I've 'ere. If she 'as, then you've 'ad it. Want to try it, mister?"
"Sure," Don said.
"2a, Peters Road: know where it is?"
"That's off Charing Cross Road, isn't it?" Don said and slid the pound note through the window of the glass partition.
"That's right." The doorman snapped up the note. "Twenty yards past Cambridge Circus on the left."
Don nodded and climbing the steps, walked out into the rain again.
Harry joined him.
"We may be out of luck," Don said. "I have an address, but she may have moved. Let's go and see."
Five minutes' brisk walking brought them to Peters Road: a dingy street lined on either side by shabby warehouses, small factories and two or three Greek restaurants. No. 2 turned out to be the address of a firm dealing in bathroom fitments. A narrow alley ran down the side of the building. Harry threw the beam of his flashlight into the darkness.
"This is it: No. 2a," he said and moved into the alley.
Don joined him.
Shielding the light with his fingers, Harry let the beam play over the door. He put his hand on the cracked, shabby door panel and pushed, but the door was locked.
Don stepped back and looked up at the building. There were two windows; one on the first floor and another on the second. No lights showed: the lower window was without curtains.
"Let's see if we can raise anyone " he said.
Harry dug his thumb into the bell push. They could hear the bell ringing somewhere in the house.